In Verse & Reverse
by WhatsMyNomDePlume
Summary: "I'm going to be in love with you. I know it. I can't… I can't say I am right now because I think that these things mean more with time, but one day, I want to hold your hand and look at you and tell you, 'remember that day I told you about? It's here.'"


**In Verse & Reverse**

**Summary:** This is a simple love story. Like many others, it has the same parts: The beginning and ending are the same: boy meets girl & happily ever after. But it is told backwards. Some say it's not the destination that matters, but the journey. The same holds true for some stories. Romance, E/B. For FGB.

**A/n:** This is the first of my one shots for FGB, for Treasurecoast. She asked for angsty fluff, a wedding run-out (ala Niles and Daphne on Frasier) and witty humor. I got the first two for her, at least.

As always, thank you to Quothme for betaing and so much more. Thank you also to Silver Sniper who pre-read this when it was still in shambles, and Rochelle Alison, for her opinions and encouragement. I worship these ladies a little, I do.

You can find my stuff at A Different Forest now, which is such an honor. Find me on Twitter too, I'm whatsmynom. Links on my profle.

I don't normally do this but if you're so inclined, Jont's 'Sweetheart' & 'Eyes' by Rogue Wave would be pretty (and) perfect mood music. Usual disclaimers apply. The idea of telling a story backwards was mastered by Chris Nolan. I just applied it to writing.

* * *

**Epilogue**

That gentle heat, those quiet nudges of her heart that pushed her toward him, they're flaring bright now, pulling and pulsing like their mouths against each other, fusing them to one another's bodies.

Her senses are submerged in him, swamped in his smell, lost in the solid weight of his arms, and his touch, oh his touch, _finally_. The feel of his lips on her, of his fingers on her neck where her hair meets her skin, the ebbing and flowing rhythm of his body against hers as they breathe in heavily and touch, breast to chest, and breathe out with unbearable space between them.

It's not a big kiss, their mouths are not enveloping one another in hunger and lust, but by no uncertain means, he is using his tongue in new ways to say what he just did in an old way—he wants her. And even if his kiss stays firmly to her mouth for now, his two lips sucking softly on her bottom one tell her that he wants all of her, even, maybe especially, the parts he does not know about yet. In his kiss, she finds not only him and his affection, but she finds herself. In his kiss, she finds that she can escape the life she has and begin the one she wants.

Because even before he kissed her, before he held her, before she put her hand in his, he took her away from everything she wanted to leave. So she'll leave it all behind to see that etched wrinkle between his eyebrows when he frowns, to watch the color of the leaves in the autumn of his hair, to feel that his kiss is as sweet as his laugh which is as sweet as his words which are as sweet at his smile.

After a lifetime felt in six days, her kiss answers the question he asked then, the question he asked now.

Yes, she'll run away with him.

**Sunday, just after the wedding**

"I don't know what to say," Edward begins. "I was hoping that my coming here would be enough, but now that I'm here, I feel I need to say… something."

Bella takes a sharp breath at the sight of him, slightly sweaty in his nervousness, the apples of his pale cheeks splotched with red, green eyes prodding into her, pleading _please_ _be_ _pleased to see me_.

"I'm going to be in love with you. I know it. I can't… I can't say I am, right now, because I think that these things mean more with time, but one day, I want to hold your hand and look at you and tell you, 'remember that day I told you about? It's here, I… I love you.'" He pauses. He has both said it and not said it but really, _he's said it_. The words hang in the air as if he's written them on the moist mid-afternoon atmosphere. "So please, just give me a chance to have that day," he finishes, his words a hurried, honest breathy plea for her heart.

He doesn't need to beg. He has it; he may have had it since that day she sat down next to him on the bus.

"Edward," she says, her voice like a relieved sigh, an exhalation and an exultation. It's just his name, his not-so-average name, a word she's said a hundred times, thought a million more, in the last few days. But it is enough. It is her answer. She smiles and relief breaks over him, the corners of his eyes crinkling, smile wide and warm, washing over her like a cool tide.

"So, will you run away with me?" he asks. He holds out his hand. Turning back, she looks at the wedding in full swing behind her. Her whole family is there, new members and old, celebrating this joining of lives, of happiness, of futures. She should be there, should be just left of center, standing next to Jake, partaking in it. But their joy, least of all Jake's, is not hers. Her joy is in the hand being held out to her, in the smile beamed at her, in the messy copper hair and imploring eyes of the man who has come to claim her as his.

"Yes, I will," she says. In that moment, she's made her decision—one bigger than just choosing Edward. She's choosing herself—and he is an inextricable part of her now. She gathers up the complicated layers of her dress, clutching them to her body with one arm as she bends and slips off her tortuous shoes. He takes them from her with his other hand and she readjusts her hold on the tulle and taffeta so she can move more easily. How did she ever get down the aisle in it?

His hand is still there, waiting to be held, waiting for her; she thinks that even if she never reached for it, he'd hold it out to her forever.

"Do you need to say goodbyes?" he asks. Bella looks back one final time at the wedding, the party she's leaving behind.

"No. I told Alice about you, sort of. She'll understand. She'll tell them why I've left. Alice will do it for me," she replies. What she doesn't say is that Alice will clean up her mess, Alice will tell Jake about Edward, Alice will explain to their mom why Bella ran out after her wedding. As if by some clairvoyant means, Alice meets Bella's eye across the meters of space between them. She sees Edward, clutching Bella's hand like a tether to his existence and, in that moment, Alice has all the answers that Bella couldn't give the day before. With a smile from the maid of honor to the bride, Bella is released, free to leave her family. She turns and looks at Edward, and they are like mirror images—breathless excitement and smiling hope. This is the end of the start that commenced six days ago, and this is the start of all good things to come.

There will be much to be said in a few days, much to be handled and dealt with. But for now, there is only her and Edward, the moment and its meaning, her hand in his.

For now, forever, there is only them.

**Sunday, during the wedding**

Edward gets there just after the final vows are exchanged. His heart clenches and he hopes that she's willing to turn back on any promises she's made. To Jacob, to anyone. He hopes that she's willing to make good on the promises they've never made with anything but their smiles or the one time he deliberately touched her—when he held her hand the way he wanted to hold her. It is a huge risk he takes in coming here, knowing what she's told him of Jake's love for her, how much he wants her. Edward can only hope that Bella wants _him_ more.

He sees the cast of players Bella has told him about in the past few days—as his eyes move past the line of handsome, happy groomsmen to the groom himself, happiest of all, Edward identifies a grinning Jake. They all look so joyful, so full of life and excitement and emotion. For a moment, Edward feels remiss to crash it, to disrupt the celebration, to burst this bubble of delight they're in. But then his eyes continue past the groom and he sees her: Bella, dressed to the nines, looking like a ten, or in his eyes, a hundred. Her hair is curled and pinned off her face, the pale fabric of her extravagant dress setting off that blush that first caught his eye. She looks better than he's been remembering, almost impossible as he's been picturing her perfect. But here she is—faking a smile, doling out happiness for everyone else, when she's still searching for her own inside.

It doesn't matter. He's here and he's hers. Nothing else—no other words, no other obligations, no other people—matter.

And now Bella's walking back up the aisle on Jake's arm, dress floating on the light wind as she practically glides. The fool lucky enough to be next to her is grinning like he owns her and maybe he thinks he does. But Edward knows better. Part of him can't believe it's only been six days since he met her, only six days of looks and laughs and breaths and thoughts and hope that have brought him here, one day of which he spent missing her. But in that one day he's figured out all he's had to—that the absence of her is the absence of everything. Whether five days or five years, that feeling is truth, that feeling is what jolted him earlier, that feeling is what he'll tell her about when, or if, she asks why he's here.

He's hoping she won't ask. He's hoping she'll just know.

Betraying the tempest of emotions inside him, he leans nonchalantly against a tree about ten feet behind the arches and ribbons and white of the wedding, the cream of his sweater and the casual of his jeans making him stand out more than his strange distance from the center of activity. His hair is in havoc from his nervous hands but as the last few couples walk back closer to him, he stands up, back straight, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He has a purpose and it is the girl nearing him.

When Bella gets to the end of the aisle and spies him, fifteen feet behind the wedding arrangement, he can read the look on her face easily, without any of the words that usually tumble so freely between. She is shocked at first and then undeniably elated and perhaps even relieved, and she wrenches her arm free from Jake's tight, slowly despairing grip. But with the melee of man and emotion in front her now, everything else falls away. She mutters to Jake she'll be right back—more words between them that won't come true—and makes her way toward Edward.

Edward is here. For her. Nothing, not the swell of emotions she felt through the vows, not the warmth of reverent words of the reverend, not the smiles of her family or any of Jake's words of love and devotion, or his pledges of fidelity and forever, have ever felt as good as knowing this:

Edward is here for her.

**Saturday**

"Alice…" Bella warns as her sister fusses and fluffs some more.

"Do you think we can pull in the waist this late? Just a quarter inch, though, I think that'll give you an absolutely _perfect_ fit." Alice is bubbling with enthusiasm. She loves an occasion and rightly so. She is the darling of the family with her quick smiles and jovial niceties. She's always been the social butterfly to Bella's reserved bookworm—she's the second child, the one that Renee got right. Bella is the firstborn, the test dummy, and she's crashed and failed by Renee's standards. Bella doesn't doubt that even through the ceremony, her mother will find some way to tell Bella all the wrong she has done. Going on vacation for four days right before the wedding, moping around for the day she's been back, leaving practically all the arrangements to Alice. It doesn't matter that Alice relishes this particular responsibility and would have done this even if Bella had been around—to Renee, it's just another way Bella has failed to be the daughter she wants, failed to be like her other daughter.

As much as she's tried to brush it off during the years, even when far away from her family—which she's been for her own sanity and self-worth, Bella feels the weight of their expectations. They burden her, giving her a sadness, a heaviness that pulls down the rest of her mostly enjoyable life. It's only been in the last week that she's felt what it's like to be free of expectations, felt what it's like to say not the right or wrong thing, but what she wants to say, felt what it's like to have Edward's hand holding hers, keeping her to the ground, while she soars inside.

Bella can't even think what Renee would say if she told her that all she wanted to do was be with, near Edward right now. Renee would accuse her of being selfish, of ruining the wedding, of betraying her family when they needed her—and she'd be right. Bella can do this. She can stand up there knowing that at some point, everyone will think of the daughter she is _not_ as opposed to the one Alice is, she can stand there, looking at Jake, with their mismatched intentions, his forever, hers unknown, and be the person that Renee wants her to be for once. She'll have a smile on her face and Edward on her thoughts, but Renee will only care about keeping face.

She has been lucky in that the bride and groom and their parties generally stay away from each other on the day before the wedding as she's been able to avoid Jake. He still managed to corner her, waxing poetic of all the trials they'd been through, how they were fated to end up here. She should have been moved, should have been out of her mind with love for him. But she's not able to escape her mind or the one thing on it: Edward. Not then, with Jake's words attempting to pull her to him, not now as she tries to push thoughts of Edward away.

Alice is still babbling away about the dress. "I just need it to be perfect, okay? This day has just got to be perfect! That's part of my duty, my life's purpose pretty much."

"Alice!" Bella says harshly and then regrets it when she sees her sister's face fall. All of a sudden her thoughts are tumbling out of her mouth. "I met someone. While on Vancouver Island."

Alice's eyes widen and immediately she shoots out a million questions, many of which Bella is dreading. "You met someone? What about Jake? Who is he? Did anything happen? How did you end it? _Did _you end it? How did you meet someone on a four-day vacation?"

Bella opens her mouth to answer, even though she has no idea what that answer is going to be, when Renee barges in the door, bursting with instructions and enthusiasm. The moment is lost and the rest of the day and evening is swept away in wedding preparations. Alice tries to sneak her away for a second to talk, but they are in high demand. Almost as if sensing something is about to shake the perfect atmosphere of her daughter's wedding, Renee hovers and Bella retreats. She takes it as a sign—she's not meant to mention it.

Her whole being feels uneasy, feels incomplete and in limbo. She's been feeling like this for months now, but ennui and apathy have just let her continue. The only time she's felt different was in the last four days.

For the thousandth time, all she wants is Edward.

**Friday**

It's only been four days. That is the mantra running through Edward and Bella's heads on the last day of the trip. Four days of being tourists on Vancouver Island, four days of ferries and whale watching, four days of each other. It has been the perfect trip, but Edward thinks any trip where he met her would have been perfect. And wonders if he can think that because _it's only been four days_.

Can he feel like this about her after such short a time? Can she, with her obligations and her issues, feel this way about him ever?

They're on the ferry from Victoria back to Port Angeles. Separation is imminent; it's all they can think about, and their thoughts are too heavy to have the light conversation they're so good at. The cool air is rushing all around as they stand on the deck at the back of the ferry, watching the island, their time together, grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

He moves his hand the few inches between them and holds hers. Actually, he just places his fingers in the spaces between hers, where they are curled around the railing. It feels so natural, like their sighing, sad breaths and the rushing of the water below them. They don't speak, don't even look at each other, simply stand and watch the boat as it parts through the sea, watch as the sea joins together in the wake of the ripples the boat leaves. They don't stop holding hands even once they're off the ferry, standing in the parking lot of the Port Angeles Ferry Port.

He wants her to stay with him. But how can you ask someone who was a stranger a few days ago for so much? He wants her not to go, and she thinks she can see it written all over his face, in the way his lowered lashes sweep his high cheekbones as he stares at the ground. The way he's not just holding her hand anymore, but the way his fingers are now twined through hers, knotted so that she barely knows what flesh is hers and what flesh is his. She thinks she can tell what he's asking her in the way he's not saying a word.

But he's not saying a word and she's glad for it—it would be impossible to say no to him and she can't say yes. The car coming to take her to the wedding pulls up, and she reluctantly pulls her hand and her heart away from him. She has to do this; she cannot betray her family, cannot disappoint not one but two households. She has promises to keep and faces to make and make up and a poufy, pretty dress to wear.

When she leaves him, it is with a heart heavier than the suitcase she carries. They don't say a word, not even goodbye, and she ignores the look she gets from the driver, her father. She avoids watching Edward grow smaller in the rearview mirror only to find her eyes drifting to the side mirror. He's there, plaid shirt, old jeans, his duffel bag and heartache in hand, shrinking into her past, standing just where she left him.

**Thursday**

Sometimes, meeting and spending time with a stranger is awkward. But sometimes, it's wondrous, when smiles and laughs and words line up across from each other in an easy, gentle rhythm. It's not superb banter or intense argument that fuels their connection. Their rapport is not like a debate where pulses are racing and adrenaline is high; they're like a puzzle, slowly putting pieces of themselves together through conversation, revealing the larger picture. Theirs is not the ripping of each other's clothes off and the ravishing of one another; it is finding the hum of arousal in hands brushing, the thrum of electricity in eyes meeting over shared laughter, the slow and steadily rising drum of their heartbeats as they begin to match each other's cadence.

In the heart of the matter, in their own hearts, they don't _feel_ like strangers, which is perhaps the strangest thing of all.

And for all that they are not saying, they say so much. Bella doesn't think she's spoken this much, this freely to anyone before. But Edward's eyes invite conversation, lure disclosure, tempt exposure, and so her words keep tumbling out and he keeps catching them.

It's the final night—tomorrow, they'll return to Port Angeles, to the lives they've each escaped from—and they're on a night cruise, whale watching. But so far, there have been no whales and really, they've been watching each other more than anything else.

"You know, I was afraid to get on a boat for the longest time when I was a kid," Bella reveals. She doesn't need to hear his words to see the 'why' written in the tilt of his chin, the rise of his eyebrows, the quirk of the left side of his lips. "I watched _Speed 2_ and got really freaked out by it—was terrified of the water." She expects to hear Edward's laugh or quick comment but gets silence instead. Surprised, she turns to him, wind tossing her hair against her face when she turns, causing her to shiver.

He's giving her a strange look. "What?" she asks.

"I can't believe you watched _Speed 2 _let alone allowed it to have a lasting effect on any part of your life," he says, and she laughs. She's laughed more in these past few days with him than she has in prior months without him. He's like a fresh breeze, buoying her, making her feel light and airy, like she could go anywhere on the wind.

But aside from Edward's warm gale, there is a chilly breeze carrying the cold of the melted ice of the sea below them. It blows in gusts and bursts, causing them to shiver and their words to stutter as they continue to talk, despite their chattering teeth. Bella reaches into her bag and pulls out a worn blanket she brought for an emergency just like this one. She's wrapping it around herself when she notices a violent shudder wrack Edward. On impulse, she walks closer and nudges him with the hand that holds the left side of her blanket-cocoon open.

His eyes take a moment to travel from her hands to the blanket, out to the sea in front of them and finally to her face. Again, there is that silent binding bond that makes them understand each other without understanding anything else at all. He grabs one end of the fleece material, curling it around his left shoulder, resting his right arm flush against hers.

The moment is dense and saturated with feelings best described in stomach flips and heart stutters, more so inside this little oasis they have created that represents so well the world of their own they've been in. The wind whips up around them, stirring the sparks in the air, in squalls and puffs as heavy as their breathing. It is too heavy, what is growing in the space they try to leave between them, what is building in the moments they look away after their eyes meet. There is so much warmth in that blanket—and not just because of the fabric. Two pairs of eyes stare out, ostensibly searching for something in water, ignoring whatever's in the air, hearts pounding in the wonder of simply standing next to each other.

**Wednesday**

Bella thought she wanted a vacation to take a break from her life, herself. But in the glowing, nebulous wake of Edward's dangerously sweet smile, she finds that she doesn't want to be anyone else but the girl who accompanies him everywhere. She's sure that some of the people on the tour group they often accompany think that they're a couple. She's less sure about how much she minds this incorrect notion.

For his part, Edward is embracing these new feelings for this new girl. What started as curiosity when he first saw her on the bus quickly turned into a crush. And now, as she walks by his side, her hand swinging next to him animatedly in her happy gait, what has become a crush is snowballing into care.

She's apologized once, twice, thrice for her outburst of emotion when they first met. Every time, he tells her it's alright, but she thinks he's placating her. It's really alright by him, that uncontrollable spew of her life that he got from her words is invaluable to him. It makes her real, fascinates and intrigues him as to who she is. She's hooked him with a few lines and he cannot tear himself away.

Slashes of burning warmth rip through his gut, and he feels at odds with himself. He is surprised and overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings, even as every nerve in him is stretching out toward her, to feel her presence around him. It has been two days, less than forty eight hours, he thinks.

And then he decides to stop thinking and just feel.

Perhaps feeling are just what he needs to snap him out of the apathetic ennui he's been living in. He's been cooped up in the city too long, he thinks. Too many buildings, too many cars, too much monotony. Here there's nature and fresh air and _her_. He came to Vancouver Island to get away from the city and with this girl, he feels like he's in a new world. His ordinary life, his average existence is elevated by talking to her; he has purpose in making her laugh, direction in being next to her as they explore the island. He has passion and emotion coursing through him and even if he doesn't know what this is, he's okay with that. He knows everything about his normal life and feels nothing; he knows nothing about this girl with him and feels everything.

Yes, he'll stop thinking and just feel.

**Tuesday**

By the day after meeting her, Edward has discovered a sound he likes as much as her laugh. She's squealing in delight as a wave chases her back to shore. They're on a rocky beach, teasing and testing the tide, daring it to drench them. The water's not the main attraction, though, and neither is the town. She's been delighting in the way his lips thin on his easy smile, the quiet sweet earnestness in his every word. After staying in the same small hotel, though in different rooms on different floors, they'd agreed to meet for dinner. Despite the fact that they both came on this trip alone, they are only too happy to escape the heaviness of their thoughts in the easy laughter between them.

To be honest, Bella doesn't know what she's doing, opening up to this stranger like this. But it feels good to be unraveled by someone who has no expectations of her. It feels good to have Edward's warm smile enticing and extracting words out of her like he's a Bella-whisperer. It feels really good to look at him when he's looking away and watch his jaw twitch involuntarily, see the sea breeze rummage through his messy hair the way her hands might want to. It is the jolt of attraction mixed with hypnotic fascination of the way his long lashes perfectly frame those eyes and the heady realization that he wants to listen to what she _wants_ to say, not what she should or _has_ to.

It's not that she's never met anyone like him before: kind, personable attractive It's that she's never met _him_ before, and there is something in the way his eyes follow her fidgeting fingers up her arm and caress her hair before arresting her own eyes that makes her think she'll never meet anyone like him, with the looks he gives and the words in his eyes as he listens to her.

And yes, he has a pull, a magnetism she can't deny, but she also feels… pushed. Not hurried or forced but like some intangible force is leading her to him, letting her mouth run just to see his answering smiles.

They don't actually talk about anything important. After the heavy revelations of their very first conversation, it's almost like there's an unspoken pact to elude all seriousness, any topic that will bring down this easy, flying rapport they have. She's a little addicted to Edward, his like and his light. There's an ease she feels around him, like she's on a vacation from herself while still being her.

She can hardly believe they've just met the day before. With him, it's so easy to get away from it all.

**Monday**

At first, he's hoping to have a free seat next to him. He's got long legs but enjoys looking out the window of the bus, at the blurred vistas and passing distance. If someone were to come sit next to him, he would have to make a choice—comfort or entertainment.

Right now, he'd choose the window without a thought. Out that window, he's watching a girl, one whose teeth are harassing her lip constantly, whose red blush is so constant and even, it must be natural, not cosmetic. Her eyes are darting here and there, and she's sweeping her long brown hair off her face and behind her shoulders. She hauls her bag into the main aisle of the bus, searching for a place to sit and all of a sudden, he's not hoping for a seat to himself anymore.

As if by fate or something less dramatic, she ends up in the one free seat—the one next to him. She smiles and sits down and shifts herself into comfort, and he is even more taken with her up close than he was from afar. Now, he just needs to find a way to talk to her without seeming creepy or overbearing.

He starts simply. "Hello."

The gentleness in his voice surprises her, as does hearing it at all. He has a sharp beauty, all angles and planes, edges and lines, totally at odds with his soft voice. He has that haughty sort of arrogance in his good looks; she didn't think he'd be friendly. But when she turns to answer him, he's smiling and, despite the fiery intensity in his eyes that disconcerts her a bit, she's drawn to him and the sparks of attraction he sets off in her.

"Hello."

They exchange their 'who, what, where, when's; he's Edward, she's Bella, they're both here on Vancouver Island, taking the bus from the ferry to the Old House Village Hotel in Courtenay to spend four days of rest and relaxation time—most of these details match up.

His 'why' is very casual—"I just wanted to get away," he says. "So I just took a few days off work." Her 'why' is much more complicated, and she's reluctant to share.

But his smile is as warm as his eyes are hot; he's engaging in conversation because he's so immersed in it. His hands move wildly as he gestures, his eyebrows quirk up and down in emphasis, his mouth widens and rounds with his words.

His needling is gentle but determined. He wants to know her story, this girl who caught his eye and has now captured his interest. He can't say what it is about her that captivates him—she's pretty but not his usual type; she's friendly and kind, but there's only been a few minutes of conversation, so he can't say it superlatively. But despite her seeming ordinariness, or perhaps because of it, he can't take his eyes off her, his ears away from her gentle answers. Eventually, his persistence pays off.

Sighing, she says, "I have this whole week off, but I'm playing hooky a bit. I'm going to a wedding. A wedding I really don't want to go to. I should already be there, in fact."

His eyebrows go up. "It's not _your_ wedding, is it?" His eyes flicker down to her fourth finger, searching and coming up empty; her finger is bare and he is relieved.

She laughs and he is thrilled that he can make her make this sound. "No. That would be trouble, wouldn't it?"

He lets out a low whistle. "Yeah, it definitely would. I'd have to find myself another seat before I convinced you to do something crazy."

"Like what?" Green and brown find each other, light smiles on their faces.

"Like… I don't know. Leave it all behind to run away with me," he suggests and she laughs again. He's pleased; that is what he was hoping for. The fact that she's not laughing _at_ him fuels further hope.

"Well if it _was_ my wedding, I might just be convinced to." She tries to pass the comment with a chuckle, but he can hear the undercurrent of honesty in it.

"Alright, spit it out. What's the story?" She shakes her head. "Listen, you can't sit down next to someone, say something like that and then refuse to expand. That's being a conversational tease."

She giggles again, and he's growing addicted to the noise, soft and gentle from deep in her throat, right from her heart. "I just sat down. _You_ started the conversation."

How could I _not_ talk to you? his mind screams. He's scared she can hear his thoughts through his eyes. "Well, you're the runaway… bridesmaid?" he guesses.

She nods, hinting that the conversation is not as implausible as she's insisting. But still with her words, she protests, "Seriously, you don't want to know."

"How do you know that? Why don't you tell me the story and I'll decide. If you're right, you get a free 'I told you so' out of it. If you're wrong—which I think you are—then at least we will have passed some time."

"What if I don't want to talk about it?" She's attempting to be defensive, but her large grin belies the attempt at seriousness.

"Are you kidding me? Two seconds ago, I was about three sentences away from getting you to run away with me. You don't think I could get you to talk?" It's there again, the cottony warm cadence of her amusement, that laugh that hypnotizes him. He's hungry in a brand new way, for her giggles or guffaws, her words or responses.

"Fine. But for the record, I'm really going to enjoy saying 'I told you so'," she warns. Then without waiting, a clear indication that she _does_ want to talk about it, she launches into her story. "My sister, Alice, is getting married. And I'm really, _really_ happy for her. But my family and I don't get along that well—me and my mom, particularly. I'm not completely sold on the idea of marriage, and she's been giving me a really hard time about it. Especially because Alice is younger, and she and Jasper have been together for, like, _ever_." He thinks she'll stop there, but she continues. He delights in her unexpected verbosity. "And then on top of it, Jasper's best man is this guy, Jake, whom I used to date and it ended badly, really messily… and out of nowhere, he basically called me up the other day and said that he'd talked to my mother, of all people, and realized how much he missed me and hoped we could reconcile at the wedding." She lets out a breath. "That was a bit of a rant, sorry."

He ignores her last few words, heart tearing ever so slightly at the idea that she might be gone even as she sits next to him. "But you don't want to," he suggests.

"It's been a while since I've known what I wanted." She's being too honest to this stranger again. But a little part of her says, it doesn't matter, she'll never see him again. A bigger part of her feels that won't be true. "I don't _think_ I want to get back together with him. But because of all the pressure from my family and the stupid, romantic wedding atmosphere and the whole 'he's the best man, I'm the maid of honor thing', I think I'm scared I'll think that I think I do want it."

"It sounds to me like you're over-thinking this," he says, just hoping—and yes, she laughs, eyes bright, mouth wide, body lose and languid. He's caught off guard at how much her actions, her acceptance mean to him already. But he can't stop talking to her, and he wants to keep on doing so forever, until he's sure these tentative flutters will solidify and never disappear. It's day one, but he has a feeling. In fact, he's having all sorts of feelings for the soft-eyed, pretty-smiled girl sitting next to him, and they're warming him in ways he's not expecting, not experienced.

"I think I am, too," she says. "And there I go again. Now I'll over-think about over-thinking. Although, ironically, if you ask my mother, she'll tell you I'm thoughtless for taking this vacation and leaving all the wedding arrangements for my sister to handle—even though she's a wedding planner by profession and loves this stuff."

"Well, you know there's only one solution to all of this," he says solemnly.

"What?" she asks. She is enraptured in his conversation, in meeting his green eyes, in the simple way his voice turns words to sonnet.

"You're going to have to leave it all behind and run away with me."

**The Beginning.

* * *

**

Thank you for reading.


End file.
